


Chicken Soup for the Russian

by alynwa



Series: Picfic Tuesday Challenge [49]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is ill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Soup for the Russian

 

The man sneezed violently four times in rapid succession.  _Chyort,_ he thought as he grabbed his horribly used handkerchief to blow and wipe his nose again.  _Of all the ridiculous times to get the flu, this is the worst.  Half the Section IIs in New York think I look underfed and scrawny, now they are going to think I am sickly, too.  They will think I am too weak to be the partner of the Chief Enforcement Officer of UNCLE North America._

The thought of Napoleon brought more doubts to the feverish Russian as he tossed and turned in his single size bed.  _He was not thrilled to be assigned a partner; I could see it in his eyes when Mr. Waverly introduced us.  He has been polite and friendly these last three months, but now?  He probably went straight to see Mr. Waverly when he got off the phone with me.  I am useless!  I will be lucky if I am only returned to UNCLE Europe._

He flopped onto his back and tried to ignore his aches and pains as he attempted to take a nap.  He was almost asleep when he heard what was becoming a familiar code knocked out on his door.  _Napoleon is here?  It is the middle of the day!_

He heard his door being unlocked and opened.  “Don’t shoot, it’s only me!” Napoleon called.  Illya heard him go into his kitchen area and then there he was, standing in the bedroom doorway.  “Oh my God, Kuryakin, look at you!  How long have you been sick?”

“I was beginning to feel unwell Friday afternoon and by Saturday I was feverish and nauseous.  I, I have been in bed since then.  When I had to use the toilet, I crawled and I used that when I could not.”  He pointed to a metal wastepaper basket near the head of the bed.

“And you didn’t call me?  What is _wrong_ with you?  I’m your partner now, Illya, that means I’m supposed to know when you aren’t well, not get a sick call like you’re a little under the weather and then come here to find you practically lying in your own filth!”

“Sorry,” the Russian mumbled. 

The entire time Napoleon was ripping into Illya, he was looking around the bedroom. “You have any latex gloves in here, Mr. Lab Rat?”

Illya pointed to his briefcase.  “In there.”

“Thank God,” Napoleon muttered as he opened the case and grabbed the gloves.  Grimacing in disgust, he put them on and began picking up heavily used handkerchiefs, toilet paper and throwing them into the befouled wastepaper basket.  “I’ll be right back.”  Illya heard his front door open and close and then again a few moments later as Napoleon came back from the incinerator.  He walked back into the bedroom carrying a large pot which he took into the bathroom.  Illya could hear water running and Napoleon rummaging through his medicine cabinet.  He came out of the bathroom with aspirin and a cup of water.  “Take this,” he ordered, “Drink all the water.”

He took the empty cup back into the bathroom and returned with the pot full of warm water and a washcloth.  “See here, Age… _Napoleon_ , I am capable of bathing myself,” he sputtered indignantly.

“Yes, I can tell by that fresh aroma coming off you.  Lie back and think of England, Partner Mine, this sponge bath is happening.”  Napoleon smirked in satisfaction as the blond complied. 

He watched dispassionately as Napoleon quickly washed his arms and legs, chest and privates, closed his eyes as he face was scrubbed clean and obediently rolled onto his side so that his backside could be washed.  _I do feel better now that I am clean,_ he admitted to himself.  “Thank you” was all he said to his partner.

“You’re welcome,” Napoleon replied cheerily as he dumped the water down the toilet, “Now, I can get to the reason I came over here.”  He went into the small living room and returned with a chair and snack table.  After setting that up, he went into the kitchen and returned with a large steaming pot of what looked to Illya to be chicken noodle soup.

“You, you bought me soup?” Illya asked.  His mouth began to water as the tantalizing smell reached his nose.

“ _Bought?_ I’ll have you know this is a Solo family recipe; I _made_ this soup.  Sit here and eat while I change your sheets.”

Illya didn’t think he could eat until he tasted the first spoonful and his body remembered it hadn’t had much nourishment since Friday.  “This is delicious, Napoleon.  Thank you again.”

“Don’t mention it.  We’re partners and this is what partners do for each other.  Good thing for you, too; otherwise, I would order you to Medical and I know you hate it there.  That soup will taste even better tomorrow.  All right, your sheets are changed and you need some stuff from the drugstore.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Illya watched him leave and then ladled himself another bowlful of soup.  _I’ve never had a coworker take such good care of me.  This is what partners do for each other?  I am learning to like having a partner, especially this one.  I hope this continues to work._  

 

 


End file.
